


Fear And Delight

by fleshnbloodskeletons



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Behavior, Canon-Typical Violence, Choking, Cock Worship, Crushes, F/M, Light BDSM, Reader Insert, Self Insert, Smut, Unnamed Reader, but i like jon scary, jon is really neurotic and scary in this, reader is a bit of a thrill seeker and a perv, reader is an arkham employee, this is smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-01
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:07:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29126961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleshnbloodskeletons/pseuds/fleshnbloodskeletons
Summary: You're a janitor at Arkham with a crush on the Scarecrow, and he lets you know he's aware in the only way he knows how. Smut in the later chapters, idk how long this will go on
Relationships: Jonathan Crane/Reader, Scarecrow/Reader
Comments: 5
Kudos: 71





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> this is blatant and unapologetic horny, the world needs more Jon x Reader

His cell was neat, clean even, compared to the usual dingy, unkempt or otherwise trashed living spaces inhabited by the other inmates of the notorious institution, Arkham Asylum.  
He’d been in the prison longer than many of his peers, and escaped quite frequently, ever scheming and plotting his revenge against those who he perceived to have slighted him-- be it old rivals, flippant ex-students, the entire city of Gotham (if the spirit was with him, at least), or the Batman himself.

Yes, his cell was neat, and it certainly wasn’t because I took so much extra time cleaning it during the weekly cell block sweep. As a janitorial facility employee at Arkham, I was little more than a maid for the inmates (at least the ones who allowed faculty to touch their accommodations without following through on the ubiquitous threats of dismemberment and torture). It was a thankless job, but in a twisted sort of way, I enjoyed it. It was a rare thing to come so close to the intimacies of Arkham inmate life, and you really never could tell when you might stumble upon something...interesting. I could never forget the time I was scrubbing down the Riddler’s room and found, stuffed into a crack along the concrete floor, a small shard of glass--perfectly sized to slip under a shirt sleeve and use to shiv a guard-- or a fellow inmate.

Mr. Nygma has since refused to let me clean his cell, despite him being under 24/7 supervision until further notice. Arkham doesn’t take kindly to conniving criminals, in or out of the prison’s walls.

As I wiped down and swept out the cell of Dr. Jonathan Crane, I pondered how despite having never found anything truly out of the ordinary or against protocol here, I always stayed just a little bit longer than I needed to. Sometimes losing myself in my thoughts staring at his metal bed frame (bolted, of course, to the floor), or the small and heavily monitored selection of books stacked carefully next to it. He was such a curious man. Brilliant and sharp but just unhinged enough to have landed himself in the madhouse over and over again.

I tried to convince myself, usually half-heartedly and always in vain, that it was just a passing fascination with such a striking character. Even for Arkham, Crane-- the Scarecrow himself-- was often whispered about or shunned, not only for his past acts of terror and violence, but also because of his vitriolic attitude towards everyone in the prison itself. He was disliked by everyone, faculty and inmates alike, and he knew it, and the fact that knew it was made plain as the long crooked nose on his pale, worn face. A snide remark here, a scathing comment there, and of course his penchant for scaring people by any means necessary had built him up quite the reputation within the walls of the Asylum.

As much as I tried to deny it, or maybe hoped it not to be, it was an inescapable truth. I was, in some strange and twisted way, attracted to him. It was a small source of guilt in my mind, but also of arousal and fear. What if he found out? What if he already knew? He was a psychologist, after all, and a damn good one. He could analyze someone’s entire psyche in just a few minutes of observation, and then of course use that to his advantage...and the last thing I wanted to do was to inadvertently become one of the Scarecrow’s pawns in his next plot.

As much as it thrilled me to watch him myself, it was probably for the best that when I was working in his cell, in his most intimate places, that he was always away and under supervision. Not that the other inmates were present when I cleaned their cells, but usually they would be held just outside while I zipped in and out with my supplies. Crane, however, without fail, would request to have his shower during his cell sweep, and would come back to a clean cell, surly and still dripping wet-- something I was always careful to notice as I stepped aside and let the guards place him back behind bars.

I was just about finished, then. I stood up, leaning on the mop after wiping up the last of the water from the floor, and my eyes drifted to his little library of books again. They were all quite worn out, having been thumbed and leafed through countless times, and were all quite dry and dull textbooks and essay collections on chemistry or psychology.  
One of them, however, I noticed, the one on the very bottom of the stack, looked particularly rough around the edges. The pages seemed on the verge of falling out, and there seemed to be something stuck into the spine, where the leaves had peeled away from the binding.  
I glanced around quickly, to ensure no one was looking, and I quickly pulled it out, opening it gingerly and flipping through the pages. It appeared to be nothing more than a distressingly boring biography about a long-dead philosopher--until I noticed the minute, scrawled notes in the margins.  
This can’t be from Crane...right? I said, peering closer. What could he have written them  
with? None of the inmates are allowed pointed objects of any kind...no pens, pencils, or anything.  
I tried to make out the writing, but it was so small and in such a tight script it was nearly impossible to read. I caught a word here and there--mostly inane things or what seemed to be day-to-day records of his thoughts during his incarceration--until I saw what was, undoubtedly, my name in one of the very last pages.  
My heart was in my throat, hands shaking. I couldn’t figure out what he was saying about me, but I knew it couldn’t possibly be good.  
Suddenly, I heard shouting out in the cell block hall.  
An alarm went off somewhere a few halls away, and the other inmates started to stir, some whooping or yelling at whatever was going on.  
I dropped the book in my fright, and I heard something clatter at my feet. I whipped my head down to see what it was, and saw a very old, nearly used-up ballpoint pen had slid out from the spine of the fallen tome.  
So that’s--  
My thought was interrupted by a hand, a big, cold hand, wrapping around the back of my neck.  
I felt every single drop of blood drained from my face as a dangerously low voice came from behind me.  
“Now, now, missy. Didn’t your mother tell you not to take what doesn’t belong to you?”  
I swallowed hard and heard, somewhere from outside, a guard shouting that “he broke away from transit” and “was no longer restrained”.

The hand on my neck squeezed firmly and I slowly turned around, knowing all too well who it was.  
Crane towered over me, his hair still matted down from the showers, his steely blue eyes boring into me from behind his shining round lenses. I opened my mouth to stammer something inconsequential but before I could even get out a single syllable, he pushed me back, and I had no choice but to stagger along with him until my back was pressed against the frigid concrete walls.

The shouting and jeering inmates outside and the blaring siren made my head swim, and Crane’s leering face bearing down on me in the dim light of his cell only made it worse.  
“I don’t have much time, miss, before those infernal guards find me again and deliver swift justice upon my unrighteous brow.” He leaned in close and I could feel the body heat radiating off of him. The thought of finding this stone cold killer, this psychopath, attractive in the slightest seemed logically like insanity, but maybe, in that moment, I belonged in a cell just as much as Crane did. Because as he threatened me, with his bony hand around my neck, I felt a deep and curling arousal throb through my core.

“I’ve been watching you closely, darling, and I know you’ve been watching me. The difference in our cases is that I have learned from my observations and you have merely fallen like a lost lamb into the wolf’s den into a pathetic infatuation-- which, might I add, is not something to take lightly.” The hint of a smirk tugged at his thin lips as I squirmed in his grasp. I wanted to call for help, or just simply say something, but I felt paralyzed.

“Let’s just say it’s in your best interests to keep your little findings tonight to yourself. Because believe me when I tell you the next time I catch you poking that pretty little nose of yours into places it doesn’t belong, I won’t be so gentle.” He punctuated this last statement with a deliberate and dangerously tight squeeze of his hand around my throat, my vision blurring and lights popping in my eyes as his fingers dug into my neck.

And then-- I’m not sure if I hallucinated it, or if it was some kind of deep layer of intimidation through overstimulation-- but I felt him kiss me, firmly and quickly. I gasped for air, and desperately to deepen the kiss, I wanted him to take me right then and there, I didn’t care how or what he did to me, but as quickly as it had started, it was over. His hand left me, and he backed away, a smug, knowing grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the far wall of the cell, crossing his arms and tilting his head slightly.  
“Now you best be getting out of here, miss, before I change my mind.”

I scrambled over to my cleaning supplies and, without a second thought, raced out of the cell and nearly crashed into a group of approaching guards. One of them caught me and helped me regain my balance, and offered to escort me back to the faculty break room, or the first aid room if I was injured. I assured him hurriedly I was fine, just shaken, and wanted to clock out early.

I was granted the rest of the day off, but not before a quick questioning and a drug screening to insure I wasn’t hiding anything. The tests all came back negative, and the interrogation left them with nothing suspicious to speak of, but little did they know I was indeed hiding something..and that was the burning image of Jonathan Crane towering over me, imprinted on my brain and hardwired directly into my soaked pussy.

Not much came of Crane’s little incident, though he was now under strict surveillance too, and I was assigned a different cell block to clean for the next few weeks. I still wandered past his cell every now and again, sneaking a look at him-- and sometimes, I noticed with a jolting thrill-- he looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You decide you need to follow up with your encounter with Crane, but how to go about planning that when he's under lock and key?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this morning I had a major brain blast and thought of a continuation of this fic. Also, I'm naming it after a Corrospondents song because I'm uncreative.

When one needs to bend (or break) the rules at Arkham, there are a few ways of going about doing so. Of course the old standby is the DIY method-- drum up a scheme of your own to get around those pesky federal prison protocols and hope everything goes according to plan. Sometimes you might get lucky and you get away with it-- at high risk, of course. One doesn’t just waltz around one of the highest-security institutions in the world without the unavoidable gaze of surveillance cameras and watchmen on their back at all times.

In other cases, your best bet for weaseling around the asylum is good old fashioned bribery. Arkham may be high security with some of the finest faculty around dedicated to upholding the law of the land, but not every man employed there has its best intentions at heart. Many would swap sides at the drop of a hat--or rather, at the drop of a sizable wad of cash.. Some don’t even need that much to get you inside a cell or to look the other way when you need to teach a fellow inmate a lesson-- a couple hundred bucks and you’re as good as invisible...for a time.

There were a handful of reliable rats in the Arkham guards’ ranks who the inmates and other faculty could rely on to buy them some desperately craved freedom, but none was more eager to please than one Mr. Randall Meyers.

Meyers was an ex-Navy Seal, discharged a few years ago for a track record of violent outbursts against his comrades in the field. While he might have been removed from the military, a private institution like Arkham, with its need for ruthless and seasoned guards and wardens, had no qualms with hiring someone like him to patrol the halls during night shifts. What was it to them if he beat on an unruly inmate here or there? The pay was better than what he was getting in the military, and the hours were better.

Though that still wasn’t enough to keep Meyers in line, and he quickly found that it was profitable to solicit his illicit services to the inmates and other employed staff at Arkham to line his pockets a little more. On rare occasions he was even paid to “talk to” certain inmates who had beef with others, all for the right price, be it cash or otherwise. He once “accidentally” forgot to lock the handcuffs on the Joker during a cell block transition, giving the clown just enough time to steal Meyers’ sidearm and take out half a dozen guards before busting through a window and into a getaway truck below. Meyers had his pay docked and had to sit through a two week re-education clinic, but it was worth it when a very generous deposit was sent to his personal checking account from a Mr. Jack White. He could’ve retired right then and there if he wanted, but why quit while he was ahead?

So of course, when I needed to get back into Crane’s cell a few weeks after my little encounter with him during my shift, I turned to Meyers to help me.

I found him leaning against a wall in the mess hall one afternoon, overseeing the B1 lunch block, hardly paying attention to the murmuring inmates below. I was on my way to clean the kitchen bathroom, so this was a perfect opportunity to catch him before I needed to continue with my duties.

He was a brutish looking guy, not too tall, but lean and built solidly. He had a square face, with a blocky nose and small, shrewd eyes. He tilted his head ever so slightly at my approach, flitting his gaze up and down before leaning back again. “Can I help you?”

I crossed my arms. “I don’t know, can you?”

He perked up a little. Those were the magic words, a secret code constructed by the various staff and inmates to initiate a deal. “I sure hope so. What can I do for you?”

I warily darted my eyes up at the cameras in the vicinity-- thankfully none of them seemed trained on the faculty walkway above the cafeteria, only down at the inmates below. It seemed safe enough.  
“I need to pay someone a visit. I don’t need long. Maybe forty-five minutes, an hour, tops.” I paused, taking a shaky breath. I couldn’t believe I was doing this. For CRANE, of all people. “I can do any time, but I think late at night would be best. After my final weekday shift ends, maybe around 2 AM.”

Meyers smirked a bit and scratched his cheek. “Well now, I’d be more than happy to oblige. But you know it’s going to cost you, and I don’t run cheap. If something goes wrong with your little endeavor, it’ll be on my ass.”

I nodded. “I know.” I pulled out a folded envelope from my back pocket and handed it to him. “There’s 500 in there. I don’t know if that’ll cover it, but I can get more if you need it.”

He took the envelope and furtively flipped it open and glanced over the contents. He was silent for a beat, and I could almost see the cogs spinning in his brain. When he spoke, I could tell his suspicions were rising. “What cell block and what inmate?”

“Jonathan Crane. I believe he’s in cell A2-003.”  
Meyers raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you a janitor or some shit? Why do you wanna talk with Scarecrow? And in person, no less. I could hook you up with a face-to-face chat in a visitation cubicle instead, y’know.”

I shook my head. “I promise I’m not planning anything underhanded or extravagant. I don’t want him to escape any more than anyone else at this god forsaken institution-- but I would prefer a private, secret meeting with him. That’s all.”

He crossed his arms and tilted his head again, staring intently at me. “This is pretty shady coming from a staff member. You sure he’s not plotting something?”

“Crane isn’t the type to use bribery to get what he wants.”

Meyers shrugged. “Fine. If you want to see the old bastard that bad, I ain’t gonna stop you. But just in case shit goes south, I want an extra 200 upon delivery. I won’t let you in his cell unless the money is in my hand.”

I bit my lip. Was this really worth 700 dollars of my hard earned money? I felt like I was going insane. I had just gotten a tax refund check a few weeks ago, so this would hurt my wallet far less than it normally would, but it was still a massive amount of money to siphon into something so pointless, so dangerous, even.

I stiffened and looked Meyers in the eye. “Deal. I’ll be back tonight for my night shift, and I’ll hand you the rest of the cash then.”

“Deal.” He turned to look over the railing at the inmates below and snorted before hocking a loogie down, where it landed in Jervis Tetch’s green beans.

I sighed and continued on my way to the bathrooms. It was going to be a long and impatient wait until tonight, and I had to be sure I was ready.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy you're in for it now scoob

This isn’t just stupid. This is actual insanity, I thought to myself as I prepared for what I was quite convinced was the worst idea I’ve ever had, and boy, I’ve had some pretty bad moments in my life. 

This was objectively worse than the time I thought it was a good idea to get crossfaded and go out to a bar alone in the middle of the night-- and if it hadn’t been for Batman showing up at the last minute to smash the skulls of those two freaks who roofied me, I might not have lived long enough to outdo myself. 

And well, if I’m being honest, planning a prohibited rendezvous with one of Gotham’s most notorious and evil masterminds for the sole purpose of making amends for invading his personal space was pretty fucking idiotic. Yet here I was.

I had just finished sanitizing the mess hall with my co-workers and we’d all signed off for the night. Barb and Geoff were heading out to get a late night drink and asked if I wanted to come along, it being Friday and all, but I politely declined. I told them I had an appointment in the morning and needed to get some rest.

An appointment with Dr. Crane, I thought to myself as the two other janitors cheerfully waved goodbye.

I reached into my pocket, feeling the objects hidden there. Nothing too provocative but hopefully it would be enough to appease him.

My shift ended at 1:30, so I hung around in the staff women’s restroom for a while, browsing social media on my phone until I received the confirmation text from Meyers. I was in the middle of reading about some fundraiser Wayne Tech was sponsoring next week when my phone buzzed in my hand.

“come when ur ready. im in block A2. bring the money.”

Even though I’d been expecting it, I stared at the notification for too long before quietly exiting the stall and slowly making my way to the hall where Meyers was waiting for me.

My heart was beating so hard I could feel it through my arms and down to my toes. My stomach was a knot of adrenaline and excitement...or was it fear?

Whatever it was, it was making rational thinking impossible. Rational thinking would have told me to bail. Rational thinking would have told me to go home and watch TV and eat the leftover stir fry I had waiting in the fridge. Rational thinking would have told me that this little crush I had acquired was lunacy, and acting on it made me a lunatic.

But my brain was blank, save for the memory of those piercingly cold blue eyes as they bored into me like two sharp iron screws, twisting themselves deeper into my psyche with every passing second. 

After what felt like a decade of time passed, I saw Meyers leaning against the wall in block A2. The lights were out, of course, and most of the inmate on the floor were asleep...or pretending to be. My eyes had long since adjusted to the light (or lack thereof) and I strode up to Meyers, reaching in my pocket for the rest of the money. I’d gone out on my lunch break to a convenience store and withdrawn it from an ATM. I didn’t tend to carry that much liquid cash on my person at any given time.

He wordlessly thumbed through the bills, and, when he was sure it was all there, he turned around. “One hour, kid. And don’t come crying to me if he fucks you up in there.”

His words seemed to wake me up from my trance and I shook myself, suddenly imagining Crane turning on me in the darkness. His words last time echoed in my head...how he wouldn’t be so gentle next time.

This was next time.

And I was sure he wouldn’t forget a face like mine, especially after he choked me out against his cell wall.

I took a step back as Meyers scanned his staff ID card into the security system next to Crane’s cell. It was too dark inside to see the lanky doctor, but I knew he could see us.

“I--I think I want to change my mind, Meyers…” I whispered, but either he didn’t hear me-- or he didn’t care. Because the next thing I knew Meyers had grabbed my arm firmly and dragged me over to the door.

“Hey, Crane. You have a visitor.” 

I almost screamed as he shoved me into the barely-opened cell door, and slammed it shut behind me.

I let out a soft yelp and slid to the floor, landing on my ass and pulling my legs up close to my chest, looking around in the darkness in terror. The bullt-proof, sound-resistant glass behind me was cold on my back as I heard Meyers chuckle and lock the door again. “I’ll be back in 60 minutes, toots. Have fun.”

I heard his footsteps fade away, and suddenly I was alone, in the dark, with Jonathan Crane.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~I don't show it but I quiver whenever you come near  
> And I cannot decipher between the thrill and the fear...~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING WARNING this part gets pretty dark at times!! Nothing gratuitous, just some canon-typical violence from old Jonny. There's some choking/manhandling, but it's over pretty fast. 
> 
> Also, this chapter gets pretty spicy at the end so uhhhh yeah get ready for some fun

The dark was suffocating. It was hard to believe that minutes ago I was breathless with another kind of apprehension--with excitement, even horniness, and now I was cowering on the floor like a scared child.

After all, that’s all I was, wasn’t I? Here I was, barely out of my college years, working a job I often felt inadequate for, and falling for dangerous men far out of my league who would tear me apart on the spot if given the chance.  
And to think I was the one to present such a man as that with the chance, myself. Crane was right. I walked right up to the wolf like a blind little sheep, and I was going to pay the price.

There was still no movement, no stirring from the darkness at my feet to imply that Crane even knew I was there. I had a flash of hope. Maybe he was asleep. Maybe if I stayed quiet Meyers would come and retrieve me without ever having to face the Scarecrow at all.

My heartbeat slowed a bit and my panicked breathing evened out. I was scaring myself more than I needed to. I just needed to relax--

And then, like a bolt of lightning crashing through the heavens, a pearly white arm slammed into the glass next to my head. I nearly had a heart attack on the spot, shaking uncontrollably, teeth chattering, eyes wide as dinner plates as I slowly lifted my gaze.

Looming above me like two twin blood moons in a cloudless sky were Crane’s glasses, reflecting what little light strayed into the cell from the glowing “EXIT” sign just outside in the hall, the only source of light in the vicinity. I swear they had to have been supernaturally enhanced by some kind of unearthly magic to make them shine like they did.

Underneath the lenses lay his sunken but electrically blue eyes, staring at me with a cruelty I couldn’t help but find... tantalizingly, and embarrassingly erotic. His mouth, barely visible in the dim light, was rigidly held in a slight frown, but as he seemed to realize that I was completely and totally released unto him, it twisted into a crooked, toothy grin. I was a mess of emotions, under him, my terror-wrecked brain swinging from perilous fear to unrestrained arousal like a malfunctioning lightswitch.

“My, my, miss. I thought for sure I had scared you off for good last we met.” His voice came low and haunting as he leaned in close, his hand still braced against the door, his thumb just grazing my left ear.  
“If I do recall correctly, I told you that if you ever came back here, prying around like the little rat you are, I would be a lot...harsher in my retributions.”

I flinched as he balled up the hand by my head slowly into a fist and stood up straight, looking down at me from his full, menacing height. He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes. “Breathe, child. It’s not fair if you pass out before I get to teach you your lesson.”

I realized then that I had in fact forgotten to breathe for a good minute and took a wild, deep breath, chest heaving. I felt like I wanted to cry but I couldn’t. I also felt like I wanted to leap up and grab him, cover his body in kisses and nips of affection. I couldn’t tell you why. Maybe it was the creeping insanity.

“Stand up.” He barked, turning around and striding back further into the cell, his long legs carrying him effortlessly across the cold cement floor.

Without a second thought I scrambled to my feet, noticing my hands and knees were still shaking. I felt a lump in my throat throb painfully as I swallowed hard, staring intently at his nearly black silhouette.

“Let me just--evaluate the situation, may I?” He said dryly. I couldn’t speak, so he continued. “I take your silence as an invitation, not that you have much say in the matter at the moment.”  
“You, my dear, have been stalking me through that glass door for months. You might not have noticed it yourself until recently, but you are absolutely obsessed with me.”

He turned slightly. “See, the human brain is a curious little thing. The heart even more so. I’m talking of course about the metaphorical heart--if you’ll allow me the novelty of indulging in a bit of psychological rhetoric.”

His voice was still immensely calm, but cold. The vitriol in his body language seemed to have faded, and he was speaking so eloquently, almost as though he was enjoying it just a little too much.

Was--was he lecturing me?

“Now. You know who I am. The whole city, perhaps even the world, knows my name. Or at least, they know the Scarecrow. You’re aware of the things I’ve done. The people I’ve killed. The atrocities I’ve committed in my time. To any sane individual this would logically provoke fear, repulsion, apprehension. Disgust.”

He tilted his head and turned around again, facing me fully, one thin hand rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“And yet you, you, are drawn to me. Maybe it’s just as simple as a standard human morbid curiosity-- plenty of people find crime and killers fascinating to observe and learn about. But I think-- wait--rather, I know that’s not the case with you.”

He took a step closer to me and I flattened myself against the door.

“Because a few weeks ago, when I caught you...snooping around in my private possessions...when I grabbed you by the throat like a helpless little animal--”

I could feel my face flushing under his gaze. I could feel something burning and wild curling up through my belly from my most private of places.

Crane stepped forward again. He was like a goddamn beast of prey, and he had no intention of trying to hide it. He knew what he was doing. Maybe I didn’t.

“When I apprehended you for your misdeeds against me--I had only the intention of scaring you. That is, after all, my speciality. The weaponization of fear.”

He took another step closer. He was dangerously within an arm's length of me, maybe less.

“But when I squeezed your pathetic little neck in my hand--”

I knew what was coming and yet I made no moves to avoid it.

“You enjoyed it.”

His hand flew up to my neck and once again I was in his grasp. But this time, his grip kept tightening. My heartbeat shot up and I tried to scream but nothing could escape from my compressed windpipe.

He leaned close, a deadly sneer plastered across his weathered face. “You little whore. I’ll be sure not to make the mistake of indulging your fantasies again this time.”

I reached up, scratching at his arm desperately to no avail. Oh god. This is how it ends, isn’t it?

“Let’s see if you enjoy it now.” He hissed, voice like venom in my ears.

My eyes were watering and colors flashed in my eyes. I gasped and writhed, trying to weaken his grasp.

“I...I’m s-ssorry--....d-doctor…” I wheezed out the words just before I was sure I was about to black out completely. But by some unholy miracle, Crane’s grip slackened. I seized the moment and took lungful after lungful of air, gasping like a beached fish.

“What was that?” He muttered pulling my closer, hand still around my throat.

“I’m sorry...I’m s-sorry...for...for what happened a few weeks ago…I’m s-sorry, D-doctor Crane.” The words came tumbling out of my mouth breathlessly. 

He released me, abruptly. I stumbled back and fell to the floor again, backing myself this time into a corner. Crane paused, seemingly perplexed. “You called me Doctor. Interesting. A formality not granted by so many of the staff here at dear old Arkham.” There was pride in his voice. Pride.

Wait...he was preening himself like a peacock for being called Doctor. Huh. Well at least he wasn’t trying to strangle me…

“This does throw a wrench in my initial analysis of you. What I first surmised was that you’re simply infatuated with me like one of the brainless groupies who flock to rebellious men for the thrill of dangerous attraction, or sex. But you seem to respect me, to some degree.”

I swallowed. He wasn’t wrong, but I certainly didn’t hold him up as some paragon of reverence. I recognized his authority and intelligence, is all, but I didn’t dare breathe a word of that. Better to just let him talk to himself.

“But. This is where it puzzles me. Surely a woman like you, who understands I’m to be respected and observed as your superior, would know better than to go prying through my belongings when it’s not required by your job?”

There was a hint of anger in his voice, and he leaned down again, and a muscle in his sinewy forearm twitched.

“D-doctor I assure you it was only curiosity. And...and I know it was wrong of me. I’ve learned my lesson. I promise. I swear.”

His nostrils flared and he brushed a strand of his grey-streaked ginger hair out of his eyes, but he didn’t speak, so I went on, hoping to get to the point of my visit.

“I-I couldn’t even read most of what you’d written. N-not that I was trying--I just happened to see...your notes. In your book. I wasn’t spying, I swear.” I spoke quickly and slowly reached into my pocket.

He stiffened, like a cat observing a rodent. 

“And...in fact, I felt bad you had so little to work with. With your notes and writing, I mean. And any doctor needs somewhere to write.” I stood up slowly, his eyes trained on my every move. I gingerly reached out, clutching two small objects in my outstretched hand.

He took them quickly, as if afraid I would make a sudden attack, and stepped back as he perused them.

They were a tiny, hard-bound notebook, with a shining gold C embossed on the front, and a brand new collapsible folding pen.

“What-- what is this. Why?” He murmured, opening the notebook and running his fingers over the spotless pages.

“You deserve a place to record your thoughts in peace. And I felt this was...prudent. A sort of apology. And I won’t try to read this one.”

He looked at my intently, brow furrowed slightly. He seemed stumped, genuinely.

“Look--” I pointed down under the bolted-down bedframe. “There’s even a hiding place here.   
I got down on my hands and knees and reached under the bed, feeling around on the floor. Ahh--there it was. A tiny metal door, painted over but still accessible. It had likely once had some kind of plumbing or electrical access inside it, but was now empty. Every cell had one, but almost none of the inmates knew about them due to the odd placement. 

Crane leaned down, a hand quizzically covering his mouth. 

“You can store it in there. Trust me, I’ve cleaned these cells countless times and no one, not even the goddamn warden, knows these little compartments exist.”

I stood up, feeling my face redden again under his gaze. The cruel look in his eyes wasn’t entirely gone, but had significantly faded, and I thought I detected what I could have sworn was a hint of gratitude under his steely complexion.

“Perhaps I am a goddamn fool for thinking this, miss. But I’m starting to think there really is more to your fascination that meets the eye.”

He stepped closer, dropping the notebook and pen on the bed.

I stared up at him, my heart pounding again, but this time for an entirely different reason. He tilted his head ever so slightly, and I tried to look away. This is madness, I reminded myself. Utter madness.

I felt a chill run down my spine as his fingers gently found my cheek and pushed me back to meet his eyes. “And what,” he whispered, voice deadly again, “happens if you tell your little friends in the faculty offices about this secret notebook?”

Arousal, again, was replaced with fear as I choked on my words, panic-stricken, fumbling to explain myself.

“Th-that won’t happen. It can’t happen.”

He must have sensed my agitation because his hand shot up and grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking me upwards and making me yelp. “Bullshit.” He snarled, teeth bared like a wounded animal. “You can’t fool me, child. I know you work for this prison. This is a set up, if I ever saw one, and you’re going to rat me out.”

My eyes teared up from the pain. “N-no! No I-- yEOUch--fuck--I can’t! I can’t tell anyone! I--fuCK OW--I don’t--I d-dont clean you’re cell block anymore!”

He paused, and let go of my hair roughly. “Hm. You’re right. I… I haven’t seen you clean A2 in weeks.”

I pressed myself against the wall and wished the throbbing between my thighs would leave me alone.

“And I assume, if you were to tell anyone about tonight, they would know you’ve been here when you shouldn’t have been.”

I nodded furiously and wished I wasn’t longing for him to grab my hair again.

He narrowed his eyes and his pupils flitted up and down my quivering body, resting a bit too long on my thighs as I squeezed them together.. “You truly are a strange little creature, miss.” His voice was soft and delicate now, and he leaned in close. I could actually smell him--a clean, masculine musk, mixed with the generic prison-issue soap they used in the showers.

I didn’t have a response. I was shivering from a complete mental and physical overstimulation, I’d nearly been murdered twice in the span of 10 minutes--yet I was hungry for more and didn’t know how to say it.

“Still I wonder,” he said, practically a whisper, “why have you chosen me? Why have you decided here and now to lay yourself bare before me--metaphorically of course--like...like…”

“Like a priestess before her deity…” I muttered, shocked at the words as they tumbled from my mouth. Oh god. What was I doing..

This is madness, I thought again.

A hint of a smile tugged at his lips, and I knew I’d said the right thing. That tinge of pride was back in his voice as he settled in place, leaning back slightly, hands resting on his hips. “Oh, now, is that it? That’s quite a bold statement, coming from someone of your pathetic status. I’m not sure you’ve earned that title yet. You’ve given me a gift, yes, and you’ve proven you have an iota of reverence for me-- but those are merely trifles, obligations bestowed on me to earn my trust.”

My eyes felt like they were taped open wide, face blood red, my hands wringing my shirt absently. 

“If you truly wanted to serve the god of fear, child,” he said, unmistakable lust and pride dripping from his voice, “you would be on your knees, now wouldn’t you?”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> HERES THE SPICE

Almost mechanically, I dropped to my knees. I didn’t know if I could trust Crane. I probably--no, definitely-- shouldn’t trust him. But something deep within my brain told me to keep going. Told me to lean forward. Told me to press my heaving face against the growing bulge in the good doctor’s crotch.

It must have been the madness.

Lunacy, as I reached up with both hands and braced myself against his thin hips. Insanity as I kissed his hard-on as if my life depended on it (and who knows, it might very well have). Sheer and utter madness.

Crane let out a soft growl under his breath and reached up to unfasten his jumpsuit. No easy access for inmates, unfortunately. The suit dropped off his shoulders and slid off his bony legs, leaving him in a wifebeater and white briefs before me, and I stifled a moan of anticipation. He was incredibly thin and lanky, with dark hair lining his forearms and sprouting out above his neckline and trailing down his belly, his pelvic bones prominently poking out from his narrow hips. 

He kicked the suit to the side and grabbed my head in one hand, holding me close against the hot cock straining against his cotton underwear.

“It’s been a long, long time since anyone’s been in your position.” He said. “And I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it.” 

I could feel my eyes glazing over, intoxicated. My heart was pounding in my ears and my pussy was throbbing. I hastily reached for his waistband to release him from its confines but he grabbed both my wrists and squeezed, eliciting a startles yowl from me.

“So eager,” he grunted, “but I think I want you to beg for it first, darling.”

I gasped, arching my neck to look him in the face, biting my lip so hard I was surprised I didn’t draw blood. “Please, Doctor…” I whispered, my voice so quiet it was almost inaudible.

He squeezed my wrists harder and I felt something pop under the pressure and I shrieked in pain. “Mm. Please what?”

My eyes blurred with tears. I didn’t think it was broken, but he definitely dislodged something. “Please let me suck your cock. Please D-doctor.”

He raised his eyebrows and his dick twitched. He released my arms and he smiled nastily. “Ah my goodness. So perverse.” His teeth flashed in the low light and he pulled down his briefs, his cock flopping out to rest against my flushed face.

For a man in his 50s he was... respectably hung. Not porn-star big, and not particularly thick, but it was long enough for me to recognize it was decidedly above average. Not that I was even thinking about specifics-- my brain was melting at the sensation of Crane’s manhood throbbing on my cheek.  
“Go on now,” he said, grabbing my hair again, though a bit tenderly this time. 

I kissed his dick softly, all over, and grabbed it firmly in one hand, the other braced on his hairy thigh. God, he was skinny but also so hairy. I took him in my mouth and was overcome with waves of pleasure. I felt like this is where I belonged, this is where I always wanted to be. Crane let out soft groans and gently thrust into my mouth, his hand still tightly gripping my hair.  
“Oh, god damn,” he muttered. “God damn you feel good.”

My heart swelled a little at the praise and I doubled down, wildly bobbing my head and taking as much of him as I could. I reached my other hand up, leaving my mouth alone on his cock, and he seized the opportunity to grab my head with both hands and thrust deep-- just for a moment-- before slamming back. The good doctor was throatfucking me.

I coughed and choked, drool leaking from my lips, my eyes half closed. I could feel his dick pressing hard against the back of my throat. Then abruptly, he stopped pumping...with his dick still balls deep and his hands holding me in place.

The lightswitch in my brain went off again and panic rose in my chest. I couldn’t breathe. I struggled to get my head out of his grasp but he just chuckled darkly and dug his fingers deeper into my scalp.

“Come on~don’t act like you don’t love it.” He pushed in deeper and I felt bile rising in my throat...and I hated that the curling throb in my cunt only confirmed what he said.

Yet again I felt my head growing lighter. So this was how he actually wanted to kill me, then? With his cock down my throat? What a horrible way to go.

Then suddenly, freedom. He pulled out quickly and pushed me down, and I stumbled back on my elbows, blubbering and gasping for air, spit and precum oozing from my numb lips.

“There it is. There’s that primal terror. That’s what I live for. Beautiful.” With surprising gentleness he leaned over and helped me to my feet as I shakily recovered.

It seemed that he finally could no longer hold himself back because as soon as I found myself stabilized he bent down and pressed his lips against mine, snaking a hand up behind me head and another on my chest, teasing my right nipple with slender, bony fingers. I let out a surprised moan but quickly fell into the embrace, slowly backing up against a wall.

He roughly pushed his tongue into my mouth and I surrendered it to him. I was completely his in this moment, under his control, and I was basking in it. His hand wormed its way under my shirt and bra and massaged my chest. 

“Oh d-doctor…” I moaned through the kiss, “please...s-suck on them…”

He broke away from my mouth and licked his lips quickly of any excess spit, his sharp eyes narrowed. “Ah now but you don’t call the shots, do you? That’s the god of fear’s job.” He gave my hair a warning tug backwards, forcing me to expose my neck to him with a squeak. He dove into it, pushing me fully against the wall, sucking and biting my throat like some kind of wild beast.

He licked my collarbone and looked up, a horrible grin spreading across his face as he stared at the wall behind me. “Well now-- isn’t this interesting.”

I turned my head ever so slightly to try and see what he was looking at, when it hit me. It wasn’t a wall...it was the bullet proof glass cell door. My heart sank into my stomach and I could feel the blood drain from my face.

“Now...I wonder...Should we show block A2 just how devoted you are to me, darlin’? I’m sure they would just love a good show tonight to spice things up.” He stared at me with an absolutely psychotic smile, eyes drilling into mine.

My breath caught in my throat and I opened my mouth to speak but he was already flipping me around, one of those big bony hands ripping my shirt down, exposing my tits to the world. 

“I--wait--” I gasped, instinctively grinding against him but apprehensive still. “What if someone sees?” 

I felt him tug my pants down and give my ass a firm slap before rubbing his cock against my soaked entrance. “Yes, child, that’s the point, now isn’t it? And don’t you dare lie to me and tell me you wouldn’t love to show those bastards which of Gotham’s rogues owns you now.”

His words were like an electrical signal to my pussy and I bucked into him, my tits and hands pressed tight against the glass, and Crane’s hands firmly grasping my hips. 

“That’s right. That’s right. If you weren’t sure of it before, I’m sure you are now, aren’t you?” He spoke through grit teeth. I moaned in response.

“You’ll make a very useful little pawn, my dear. But first…” He slammed into me, hard, and I swear I saw sparks fly. “...I need to fuck the fear of god into you. Or is it fuck the god of fear into you?”

It felt so good but so wrong. I wanted it but I knew this was going to haunt me forever. I could never go back...and I wasn’t sure if I would, if I could.

The glass was cold against my skin and Crane’s cock was hot inside me, conflicting sensations sending me over the edge. Add in the fact that if anyone glanced at his cell they would see him plowing me like a Georgia cornfield, and I wasn’t sure I would ever be able to recover from this. 

God, what if Meyers came back early? I could never live it down...but the idea sent a spike of thrill shooting through me. 

Crane was rutting into me like an animal, his breathing ragged and hot on my back, the wet sounds of his cock slamming into me over and over matching the pounding in my chest. “God--fucking christ almighty--” He practically howled the words and his fingernails dug into my hips. I moaned like a whore for him, gasping and grinding back against him with every pump.

And then, abruptly, he gave one last deep thrust, pausing deep inside me. He let out a slow, breathy moan and I could feel him throbbing.

“God yes…” I whispered, closing my eyes and tensing up under his grasp. 

Crane’s grip on my hips loosened slightly and he pumped a few more times, slower and sloppier than before. I felt something hot and sticky and decidedly thick dripping out of my sore entrance. I was panting loudly, still awash in the passion of our vigorous fucking.

The good doctor slid out of me lazily, breathing heavily. It had clearly taken a lot out of him, despite his enthusiasm. He was still an old man, after all. “Now,” he said calmly, bending over and pulling his briefs back on and fishing his jumpsuit off the ground, “do you feel better now that you accomplished what you came here for?”

I was still a bit dazed, and I peeled myself off the glass, relieved that no one had seen us...at least, mostly relieved. A twisted part of me hoped someone in the cell block hallway had seen Jonathan Crane fucking my brains out against the glass.

“Wh-what?” I asked stupidly. I pulled my shirt back up along with my pants, then instantly regretted it as Crane’s thick load oozed into my panties. That was going to be SO pleasant to drive home in.

He snaked around me and planted one last kiss against my lips. “You got to fuck me, the object of your desires. Is that not what you sought when you came to my cell tonight?”

I opened my mouth to object, but as I considered it I realized that he probably was right. No, he was definitely right. What else could have driven me to such lengths to find him but my lust?  
Spending so much money on Meyers’ services, my constant and intensifying arousal, my willingness to fall into his trap… ah yes, now that’s what it was. A trap. Because now he had me in his grasp and he knew I would be back for more.

He casually strode over to the bed and picked up the notebook and pen he’d left there earlier, looking them over again.

“This was a very thoughtful offering. I think it will most certainly come in handy. I can finally give poor Nietzche a rest from my scribbling.” He adjusted his glasses slightly, looking over at his other books fondly.

I cracked a small smile and sat down on the edge of his bed. “So...what...what now?”

“What do you mean?” He asked dryly. He seemed to have settled back to his usual brooding self much faster than I expected. Or perhaps it was entirely expected. “Or are you referring to, as so many women do after engaging in coitus with someone, ‘our’ future potential for relationships, be it intimate or romantic?”

God, how did he flip on the psych thing so quickly after demanding to be called the god of fear mid-fuck? “Yeah...I mean. Well. You said it yourself…” I gestured vaguely in his direction. “I’m ‘yours’ now? That had to have some kind of implication, right?”

He laughed, making me feel like it was a stupid question. “Child, one says many things in the heat of passion that are but lust and desire given audible form. Sweet nothings, as they’re often called. As I was the one conquering you, I said what I felt in the moment. It means little to nothing after we break our embrace.”

I felt myself deflate a bit. I should have known. And I shouldn’t be pining for a relationship with a hardened murderer and supervillain. 

This is madness, I thought to myself again.

“That is, of course, only because I know the prospect of losing me terrifies you.” He spoke again abruptly, standing with his back to me.

I froze, eyes wide. 

“It’s only sagacious of me to keep you on your toes. I grow bored in this cell often, and it might be entertaining to keep one such as you around. Perhaps even beneficial to my...studies.”

My hands went clammy and I swallowed hard, staring at his silhouette. Oh god. What was he planning?

“Seeing how much of a masochist you are, it will be great fun toying with you until you little brain unravels in my hands like a ball of yarn. Then we’ll see about getting...serious.”

He turned to me, a cruel smile etched on his face, and his glasses shimmering dangerously.

I let out a faint gasp, and suddenly there was a shrill BEEP. I jumped in my seat and turned to the cell door, which was sliding open slowly-- I could see Meyers on the other side, peering in through the glass.

“Have a good night, my dear. Godspeed on your way home.” Crane sat down on the edge of his bed complacently as I stood up, almost mindlessly, and stepped towards the door. 

“Sorry I cut it off early,” Meyers said, shutting the door behind me, “that was only ‘bout forty five minutes, but I’m gettin’ antsy to get home. If I’m out too late my girl gets suspicious, ‘specially after that whole thing with Poison Ivy last month. Y’know I still swear that wasn’t my fault, the bitch has her fuckin’ flower power sex magic bullshit…”

I barely processed what he was saying and followed him down the hall silently and into the elevator. We walked together to the lobby and there went our separate ways. He still had to drop off his uniform and sidearm in the guards’ locker room, and I had to scan my staff ID card to exit to the employee parking garage.

I tiredly reached for my lanyard in my back pocket, where I always tucked it away after work... but it wasn’t there.

Fear bubbling in my chest, I checked all my pockets and even around my neck, and I with every passing moment my heart sank lower knowing that it was gone. And I knew exactly who had it. It must have fallen off of me in Crane’s cell...and Meyers was already clocked out. I would have to tell him tomorrow that I needed to go back to retrieve it. Early. 

I was a low-level access Arkham employee so my ID only unlocked low level staff areas-- bathrooms, the kitchens, locker rooms, and storage closets-- but Crane (or any inmate) getting access to any one of those places could be a disaster of deadly proportions.

I realized, with a sickening throb of nausea, that I couldn’t tell Arkham’s overnight security without blowing my cover. If they knew Crane got my ID, they would want to know how. And if I told them, I would lose my job--or even face arrest.

It also meant I would have to stay in Arkham overnight until my next shift. Locked in until I found a way to get my ID back.

It was going to be a long fucking night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this is evolving into a much larger story?? SO i'll just see where this going I guess LOL thanks 4 reading so far


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